Gaming the System

by P A Wikoff

  There was a blue dot on my vision map, but when I looked at where it was coming from, nothing was there. Either I was doing it wrong, or this thing was broken. Or maybe I was broken, and this thing was doing it wrong. No matter the reason, I didn’t see jack.

  Using both of my hands as support, I propped myself up, using the railing as my guide. One step at a time, I carefully headed down the long stretch of winding stairs.

  About a third of the way down, there was a sudden click and a snap, followed by a loud grinding noise behind me.

  Did I trigger a trap?

  I held on to the railing tightly, just to make sure these steps wouldn’t turn into a slide or something equally devastating, but nothing changed—not on the stairs, anyway. Fear would have been in my eyes if I didn’t have all this game pollution there instead. Something was assuredly coming.

  Making his way out of a secret room at the top of the stairs, I spotted SmashKing. He dexterously rolled, then jumped, then rolled again, right onto the stairs above me.

  He was sporting a new set of trousers and gauntlets. They looked only slightly better than the stuff that he had sold to Asber.

  I was so focused on his gear that I didn’t notice the two spitting and sputtering, and very much alive, bagmy that were following close behind him. It was like they were all playing a dangerous game of follow the leader. Except the “leader” was heading straight for me.

  Why isn’t SmashKing attacking them? Maybe they’re too much for him? Two against one isn’t a fair fight.

  I decided to make nice and try to help him even the odds. Putting up my dukes, I called out, “I can help you. Just tell me what…”

  Before I could finish my sentence, SmashKing rolled right into me, slightly knocking me off balance. This was an incredibly wide staircase with bannisters on both sides. He could have easily avoided me, but he didn’t.

  Showing the whites of my eyes, I tried to follow behind him, but I was still staggering from his roll.

  Focusing on SmashKing, I noticed his life meter was full. He didn’t need my help at all.

  SmashKing kept on going down the stairs, without a “pardon me” or “I’m sorry.”

  Before I knew it, the two bagmy were scratching and kicking at me, having given up on chasing SmashKing altogether.

  One after another, after another, they tore at my body, leaving red numbers misted out above my head with each contact. Every scratch felt like I was getting jabbed by a razor-sharp needle. It was so painful, and so real, that I didn’t doubt my body might actually be getting prodded back in the chamber pod.

  “More like CowardKing!”

  The life meter in my vision showed that more than fifty percent of my hit points were gone already. I looked down at my arm for confirmation, and sure enough, it read twelve of my total twenty-six.

  I had to make a choice—fight back or run. If I ran, I might be able to catch up with SmashKing, but to what end? Would they keep following me forever or until I ran into another new player? No. I was going to fight back and stand my ground.

  I pulled my fist back and with all my might put everything into my next attack, fighting through the pain of getting shredded. Just before my fist reached the face of the closer bagmy, I fell to my knees.

  Instantly, the two bagmy lost interest in me and casually made their way back from whence they came, up the stairs.

  I wasn’t dead, but I also wasn’t alive enough to move. Instead, I just sat there like a cognitive corpse, throbbing in pain. As each second ticked away, my hit points went deeper into the negative numbers. It was agony, but I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I tried to cry for help, but instead a gurgling sound game out, along with a good amount of blood.

  What kind of cruel game just lets you sit there bleeding out. At least if the bagmy had finished me off, this torture would have ended a lot sooner.

  There was the wafting scent of smoke, which lingered above me. Then all I saw was the prompt “You have succumbed to your injuries. You are dead.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Heretic

  A ll the pain was gone, and I was now somewhere new. Someplace cold, yet eerily pleasant. Based on the arched ceilings, stained-glass windows, and musty smell, this was, most assuredly, a church or temple of sorts. Anywhere was better than being dead or waking up with that annoying Asber guy.

  “Let it be known that this is a miracle I bestow upon you. Seph, rise from the ashes of your other life,” a low and scratchy female voice proclaimed.

  After hearing her voice, I launched to a sitting position, quite confused as to how I got here in the first place. I looked at my arm, and there were some scars where the scratches had been.

  “Did I die?” I had seen the prompt, but I needed to make sure.

  “You most certainly did,” said the lady dressed in some sort of holy garb. It was almost like a nun’s habit, if they wore blue instead of white and grey instead of black.

  “Where am I?”

  “This is the Temple of Hope. I am the priestess Erilyn, at your service.”

  “So, when I die, everything is okay?”

  She looked at me puzzled and leaned in close to my ear. “Do you need help, friend?” she whispered softly.

  I gave her a reserved nod. Finally, someone was willing to provide assistance without giving me a hard time about it.

  “I figured as much; what with how little experience you paid me.”

  “See, it’s stuff like that that I just don’t understand in this game.”

  “Shh, keep it down. These walls have quite a long echo. You understand?”

  “Right. Sorry,” I said in a hushed tone. Either that Asber guy was telling the truth about the “game” word, or I was being too loud in this place of worship.

  “When you die, a reanimator like me will resurrect you for fifty percent of your unbanked experience. In your case, you only had one experience point to speak of. So, I ended up getting a fraction of that point. I actually lost resources on the exchange.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “No worries. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. It’s all part of the job. We have no idea what lingering souls are floating around when we cast our spells. It’s really just the luck of the draw…but location does help.”

  “What happens if I don’t have any experience to pay? Do I go into debt?”

  Her demeanor turned cold and stern. “No, it’s much worse.” Then, like nothing had happened, she was back to her normal self. “But don’t you worry about that now. Lucky for you, you’re alive and well again.”

  “Well…thank you for bringing me back. I do appreciate it.”

  The priestess Erilyn bent her knee and went into a slight curtsey. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but did the first trap get you?” She reached for a leather-bound notebook on a ledge, next to a couple of half-melted candles.

  “First trap? No, someone ran from two baggy or blagmy—whatever they’re called—and left me to fight them alone.”

  “Pulling mobs is dirty, especially at this level.”

  “So, he did do it on purpose?”

  “Yes, he did, unfortunately. Under normal circumstances, your looks might have saved you from such a dastardly trick. However, bagmy are blind and, therefore, don’t follow the normal…” Her voice got quiet again, “…aggro rules.”

  “Can I ask you something without you getting mad or making fun of me?”

  “Sure. Shoot,” she said with a snicker.

  “Is this a safety room?”

  “Why, yes, it is.”

  “I thought it might be, because all those annoying displays are gone.”

  She pressed a finger up to her lips gently.

  Now I knew for certain that my mistake was using game speak and not because of our location. “Sorry, again.”

  “You can turn your displays on in here, if you wish, but they’re generally hidden from view by default,” Erilyn quietly explained.

  “God,
no. Err, hell, no. I mean…no thank you.” I wasn’t sure what side of the religious spectrum she landed on, and I tried hard not to offend. “Actually, I would rather get rid of that stuff forever. It gave me a splitting headache.”

  “You can also turn them off permanently, if you wish,” she said poignantly.

  “That. I want to do that.” I was so excited that I nearly hugged her.

  “Settle down. Just close your eyes and do what I do.” She took her thumbs and swiped them across her closed eyelids, as if she were wiping away invisible eye makeup. “Now, you try.”

  I closed my eyes and tried my best to follow her instructions. Sure enough, a prompt read “Visual assistance disabled.” Which wasn’t entirely true because there was this last one alerting me.

  “Thank you very much. I couldn’t do…anything, really, with those things constantly in my face.”

  “The tutorial is built to help you get to know the features and set up your preferences, plus get a little starting gear…that sort of thing. If you skip it, it sets things all wonky.” Maybe Asber hadn’t undressed me after I had spawned. If what she said was true, I was naked because I hadn’t earned my starting gear. That made more sense than what I came up with. Now I felt like the jerk in our confrontation.

  “Thank you so much,” I said, as we kept our conversation low and secretive.

  “Don’t mention it. Now, if you don’t mind.” She extended her hand to help me off the raised stone slab I was sitting on.

  “Of course.” I felt her strong yet delicate grip as she helped me up. Getting to my feet, I moved a couple paces away to make sure things didn’t feel awkward.

  I checked both my arms. Everything looked the same except my stamina marking was one less and now had a skull tattoo next to it. It had gone from twenty-four to twenty-three.

  “One more question?” I asked, holding up my arm to show her the new skull tattoo on my arm.

  She gave me a look that told me she already knew what I was going to ask. “That’s resurrection fatigue. The worse you die, the worse the effect is.”

  “Oh, okay. I was worried it was going to be permanent.”

  “Nope. The debuff should go away in no time. You’ll be all right. Just try and gain some experience before you die next, okay?” Erilyn said with a sweet smile.

  “I will try.”

  She put her hands together and started to mumble some incantations. Her expression was suddenly serious and nothing like when she was casually chatting with me moments before. Enigmatic white energy swirled around her from above. Its power was condensing into a single spot on the slab. The light bent and distorted until it formed a figure lying exactly where I had just been.

  I wondered who it was going to be. Deep down I was hoping it was Asber, or maybe that SmashKing guy and that they had gotten what was coming to them. On second thought, that would mean that I would have to see them again, which I did not want to. At any rate, I was fascinated and glued to the whole ritual.

  Falling to her knees, Erilyn looked as though she trusted absolutely in her miraculous power to bring the dead back to the living.

  I, for one, thought of it as nothing but a magical spell in a game. Lines of code used to trick sensory relays into producing a real response. I know that was a very boring way to view it, but I couldn’t unlearn everything I had already known.

  No matter what I believed, or didn’t believe in this case, she really took her role seriously. Much more seriously than I, say, took my own character’s life. I had died and lived to tell about it. Somehow, I thought dying would have impacted me in a bigger way. Instead, I felt numb to it, maybe because I knew this was really just a game and there was no threat of me dying in real life. The pain, however, was real enough to make you never want to set foot outside again.

  She breathed heavily and wiped a tear from her eye before saying, “Let it be known that this is a miracle I bestow upon you. Havok, rise from the ashes of your other life.”

  Erilyn had passion for her faith, that was for sure. Her belief in herself made the experience so much more enjoyable to watch from this side of things.

  Here was another one. This guy had a full set of leather armor and brandished a hand axe.

  Making my way to the other end of the temple, I overheard Erilyn say to him, “Sorry for the delay. I had a freshy to handhold.”

  Did she mean me? Of course she did. I was as green to this game as washed lettuce and just as wet behind the ears. She was also right about another thing—there really was a long echo.

  Standing at the exit, I didn’t dare brave the outside without a proper weapon or armor.

  Peering out of an alcove, I spotted a wooden sign that read “crafted weapons.” It was hanging above a scruffy, white-haired man who looked to be trying to take a nap on his hand.

  If I were more of an extrovert, I would have asked the merchant to take pity on me or see if he had a quest or something I could do in exchange for a weapon, but I didn’t bother him. Instead, I spied a couple of solid-looking candlesticks at the base of some altar. I doubted any god would be upset about having slightly less light on their visage.

  The altar was surrounding a stone idol. It appeared to be some sort of winged boar-man. He was reasonably dressed in fine linen, with the exception of two spiked gauntlets, which appeared to be throwing green lightning out of them.

  “Those looks very smite-y.”

  Moving the candlestick, I felt a cold breeze blow past me. It was almost like a warning.

  With less light accentuating the statue’s joyous features, it started to look mad, almost demonic. I couldn’t help but feel different somehow.

  I held the candlestick and felt its weight in my hand, mimicking what SmashKing first did with his club. Except I didn’t know what I was looking for. Yes, it seemed heavy. No, it wasn’t a club. But I was going to attempt to use it as one, and if the game wouldn’t let me wield it, then I had myself a torch.

  I really hope I don’t get some unholy curse, I thought to myself as I slunk outside. I wasn’t sure if the sun was setting or if it was just overcast. In either case, it was dreary out.

  Right away, I spotted a strange being casually roaming around. It had red horns and wore a shiny metal breastplate. It was intimidating-looking, in a fierce sort of way. Based on its slow, refined stride, I knew it wasn’t a player. Human players tend to roll, jump and dance around to pass the time, being bored with plain travel.

  Looking at what I had as far as equipment went, I was no match for the thing. They wouldn’t put a hard monster so early on in the game. That would be cruel. But then again, I wasn’t sure where I was. This might not be the starting area anymore.

  I knew it wasn’t a smart idea, but I really liked how shiny its breastplate was, and armor was definitely something I needed. “You’ve got to get him before he gets you.” I reasoned away my greed.

  With my improvised weapon in hand, I was all ready to fight this impressive-looking foe when I remembered something important.

  “I am a summoner. That means I can summon things like…” It took a moment for me to recall what I had put my advancement point into. “…potions.”

  That was strange. My memory wasn’t quite as good as it had been in the creation area. Maybe I was losing the perfection I had gained there, and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

  Extending my arms outwards, I closed my eyes and said loudly, with great conviction, “Power, give me a potion!” My voice echoed throughout the open area.

  If I was going to chance fighting this horned monster, armor and all, I needed all the help I could get.

  I was about to attempt another command when the freshly resurrected man, Havok, approached me.

  “Hey, there is an easier way,” he said, with a little spring in his step.

  “How is that?”

  Havok walked right up to me, grabbed my left hand, moved it over to my right arm and made me press on the tattoo that vaguely resembled a potion.

&nb
sp; “What are you doing?”

  Darkness filled my palms, and my mind was focused on the object I was creating. All I could imagine was a refreshing bottle of healing. I longed for it. My mouth salivated for its taste. I could do nothing but tend to the task before me—tracing out the bottle’s shape inside my mind.

  It was like I was waiting for an appropriate amount of time to pass before I could collect my reward, and collect it I did. After my summoning was complete, a slightly blue potion was resting in my hand. Turning it over, there was a clock with the number sixty printed on it. I guess that was how long until it expired.

  Checking my arm, I had only twenty remaining mana points—meaning this spell had cost me twenty-two to cast. That seemed high to me. Until I could figure out how to get more mana, this was the only potion I could rely on.

  I looked up to thank Havok, but he was already down the path leading uphill.

  “Hey, wait up,” I called out to him.

  Havok spun around, but still he didn’t slow. Now he was walking backwards.

  I began to huff it over to him. At first it was easy, but it didn’t take too long for tiredness to wash over me. Taking a break, I looked down at my arm. My stamina was barely at two, and slowly rising.

  “Hurry up. I got places to be, people to annoy,” Havok said, watching me catch my breath. In that short moment, it had already gone back up to halfway. It was enough to get me all the way to him. So, I took off.

  “Havok, right?”

  He nodded at me, now walking by my side.

  “Do you want to group up and quest, or something like that?”

  “Look, Seph, you seem alright, but to tell you the truth, you’re going to get me killed. And I can do that plenty, all by myself.”

  “But maybe we can help each other out so that neither of us has to die.”

  “Nah. There’s no safety in numbers. We will do much better if we go it alone.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What were you trying to fight, anyway? Still not interested, just curious.”